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The safehouse was… small. There was no way around that fact. It was only marginally larger than Martin’s flat back at home, with a loft for a bedroom and the most cramped bathroom known to man.
It was a bit uncomfortable at first, having to essentially live on top of one another. But most of the time was spent at the kitchen table with cups of tea, or in bed with legs intertwined, so it wasn’t all bad.
Martin actually really liked sharing a bed with Jon. He’d had a handful of partners and friends sleep in his bed with him, and it was fine save for a few who really enjoyed kicking Martin’s shins black and blue, but sleeping with Jon beside him made him actually feel safe. And it had been a long, long time since he’d felt safe.
Jon didn’t really sleep much at night anymore, at least not in the way that most people defined it, but he was content, if a little apprehensive, to let Martin hold him at night, let him comb his fingers through Jon’s tangled, unkempt hair. Some nights he found himself doing the opposite: holding Martin, reassuring him that he was not alone, that he would never have to be alone again.
When it came to waking up early, Jon was more likely to be up before the sun. However, actually getting out of bed was a different story. Ever since his coma, Jon had a difficult time feeling energetic enough to sit up, draw back the covers, stand, maybe even turn on a lamp. So it was usually Martin out of bed first, putting the kettle on and then coming back up to the loft to fetch Jon and make sure he at least had some tea, if not some breakfast too, before facing the day.
After that, Jon and Martin typically went their separate ways. Martin enjoyed his adventures around the countryside, making sure at least one animal was in his field of vision at all times. If there wasn’t one, he’d usually hurry back to the house, skittish and wary of what could happen if he was well and truly alone.
When he’d get back inside, Jon was most likely reading a statement or resting. He had to rest a lot, exhausted from travelling and… starting an apocalypse. Martin was usually pretty tired at that point in the day too, and if he was lucky enough to find Jon in bed, and not passed out at the kitchen table, he’d sometimes join him.
Supper tended to dwindle with every passing day. Food was running out, and neither Jon nor Martin could find any store of some sorts. Jon had offhandedly suggested living off of the cows that surrounded the house in the countryside, but Martin had gotten quite upset about it, so the topic was dropped. There was still a certain unease that if they were stuck here, they would eventually run out of food. But, as long as Jon never really got hungry and stuck to his one bowl of oatmeal a day to keep up some semblance of humanity, they could get by.
Usually, their late supper was followed by some tidying up, perhaps some showering and shaving if not already done earlier. After the Lonely, Martin preferred to have a clean-shaved face. Jon, on the other hand, adhering to the principle of only shaving when he absolutely had to, had grown a rather full salt-and-pepper moustache.
Then it was time for bed, time to help each other up the stairs, nursing aching bodies that didn’t always cooperate, and go to sleep. Martin was always ready for bed first, changing into an old sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms that’d been around since before he started working at the Institute.
Jon insisted that he would be back in just a moment, and let his uneven footsteps echo on the small stairwell as he tried to thread his fingers through a tangled mat of his hair.
Martin sat on the edge of the bed, picking offhandedly at his nails whilst he waited for Jon. Five minutes became ten minutes before Martin got concerned, carefully going down the wooden stairs in his woolen socks. He didn’t hear any of the outside doors opening, so that was a good sign. Then he heard a frustrated grunt coming from the bathroom. The door was open slightly, but Martin knocked, just in case.
“Come in,” Jon groaned as Martin pushed open the door.
Jon held a pair of scissors from the kitchen in one hand, and a chunk of his long hair in the other. He looked rather embarrassed as Martin’s glance shifted from the scissors to the hair and back and forth a number of times.
“Do you need some help?” Martin offered.
Jon considered for a moment, a blank expression on his face. “Yes,” he said, “I think I would like some help.”
“Alright, come sit here,” Martin pointed to the edge of the bathtub. “That way, the hair doesn’t get all over the floor.”
Jon glanced down at the cold tile, where a small pile of his hair had already accumulated, and nodded, sitting down and handing Martin the scissors. Martin took both the scissors and the clump of hair from Jon’s hands, discarding it into the tub.
“So what did you have in mind, exactly?” Martin asked, cutting off the tangled ends of Jon’s hair to even it all out.
“I wasn’t really sure. I just wanted it to be a little more manageable. I hate looking in the mirror and seeing myself like this. Not in control.”
Martin nodded, cutting out another unsalvageable mat. He knew that feeling, of being in such disarray that even the smallest thing out of place can seem like the entire world is falling down. And perhaps, now the world really was falling down. But it wasn’t Jon’s fault. He was simply caught in too big a web to get out of it unscathed.
Once Jon’s hair had gotten more to shoulder length, Martin stopped and had Jon stand to look in a mirror.
“What do you think?”
“I quite like it. Less tangled.”
“Definitely less tangled. I could go shorter, make it even easier to manage?”
Jon nodded. “I would like that.”
He sat down on the lip of the tub again and Martin continued trimming his hair. Jon could feel it falling down his back, and the cool, damp air on his neck felt almost unfamiliar. He shivered as Martin brushed away strands of hair collecting on his neck and shoulders, the feeling overwhelmingly and incredibly gentle. Jon had almost forgotten what gentle felt like.
The cool touch of the razor on Jon’s neck sent another chill down his spine, but Martin’s other hand on his shoulder kept him feeling grounded. Martin took his time, making sure that every stroke of the razor or snip of the scissors was as precise as possible, even with his persistently shaky hands.
“There, let’s see how that looks,” Martin said, letting Jon tilt his head up so that he could look at the short sides of his hair.
“Oh,” was Jon’s immediate response. Noticing Martin’s reaction, however, he corrected himself. “I look… very professional. I actually had this haircut a long while ago, when I was… when I was promoted to head archivist.”
“I know,” Martin replied, interlacing his fingers with Jon’s.
“Thank you, Martin.”
“Of course. Do you need anything else?”
Jon thought for a moment. Glancing backwards at the tub, he hesitated, then looked back at Martin. “I need to wash my hair. It’s been a while, I know we’re kind of running out of shampoo, but…”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Martin said, trying to pick up all of the hair that’d collected in the bathtub.
There was another silence on Jon’s end which indicated that he needed something, but didn’t quite know how to phrase it. Or maybe he didn’t want to phrase it at all.
“Jon?”
“Hm?” Jon seemed to respond on instinct rather than actually paying attention.
“Do you… need anything?”
Jon immediately got that guilty look on his face like the one he had when Martin came into the bathroom and found him butchering his hair.
“No, it’s fine, really, I just… it takes a while, and it’s late.”
“I’ll help,” Martin offered, almost sounding more eager than he wanted to.
Jon stammered, clearly not expecting such a gesture. But once he got his bearings, he let himself process what Martin said. Martin wasn’t offering to help him because he felt obligated to. He was offering to help him because he loved him.
“I can make it quick if you’re tired. I have, you know, experience helping people with stuff like that.”
Jon nodded, feeling Martin’s pain at bringing up such a sore spot in his past. He was about to tell Martin that he didn’t have to, or that he could just shower in the morning, but Martin’s words stuck firmly in Jon’s mind.
“Yes, please. And you don’t have to rush.”
Martin nodded, and before he went to turn on the water in the shower, he opened his arms and held Jon against his chest until he felt both of their breathing patterns synchronize. “I love you, you know?”
“Yes, Martin, I know .” Jon smiled a bit, stepping back to let Martin get the shower ready.
Martin placed down a towel in the far side of the bathtub, where the water didn’t soak it through.
“Do you want to take your shirt off? It’s probably got hair all over it.”
Jon made a non-committal hum of indecision.
“That’s alright, you can wear one of mine if it gets wet. I packed extras.”
“Glad one of us is prepared for the apocalypse,” Jon remarked, eliciting a snort from Martin.
Once the water was warm, Martin detached the shower head from its hook, rinsing Jon’s hair as he sat on the towel. He combed his fingers through the newly trimmed hair, working out any cowlicks and massaging Jon’s scalp. It was like no time had passed between now and when Martin used to wash his mother’s gray, thinning hair for her every other night. The habitual routine of lathering up shampoo, rinsing, and drying seemed to overtake Martin like a parasite.
As the warm water began to turn cold, Martin finished rinsing the shampoo out of Jon’s hair. The smell of lavender filled the steamy bathroom, and Jon audibly sighed.
“That’s… a lot better. Thank you.”
Martin just nodded, toweling Jon’s hair dry as best he could. He knew there was a hair dryer somewhere, but couldn’t be bothered to dig around in the cabinet for it. At least with the majority of Jon’s hair out of the way now, it’d dry relatively quickly.
Pulling Jon to his feet with graceful ease, Martin barely had time enough to respond before Jon wrapped his arms around him, leaning into his chest.
For a moment, Martin panicked, thinking maybe Jon had stood up too quickly and was about to black out, like he would sometimes do in the archives if he’d moved too suddenly. However, after a couple seconds, Jon reassured Martin by lightly squeezing with his scrawny arms.
“Urgh, Jon, you got me all wet,” Martin sighed in mock annoyance, because it was really difficult for him to be mad at somebody who was trying to burrow directly through his ribs and into his heart. In the non-anatomical sense, that was.
At that comment, Jon did relinquish his grasp and take a step back, sheepishly smiling. “Sorry…”
“You’re alright. Luckily, I also packed extra hoodies.”
Martin folded his arms in triumphant pride at his preparedness, catching a mischievous look on Jon’s face. He couldn’t help but blush as he realized the implications of what he’d said, and the nonverbal response that followed.
“Yes, Jon, you can ‘borrow’ one… Christ, this reminds me of my year eleven boyfriend.” Martin snickered as he led Jon out of the cramped, cold bathroom and back up the steep steps into the loft.
If he could, Martin would just carry Jon. But alas, he seemed to be having enough trouble getting just himself up the stairs nowadays, he hardly doubted he could be responsible for Jon as well.
As Jon crested over the top of the stairs and into the loft area—“don’t flop onto the bedding in your wet shirt!”—Martin had to catch his breath, extending and bending his knee a few times until the motion resulted in a satisfying click.
“Getting old’s bloody awful, isn’t it?” Jon remarked as he watched Martin struggle with where to put his joints relative to time and space.
“Heh, yeah, kind of. Wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else but you, though,” Martin replied.
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Martin began to regret every life choice he’d ever made up until that point. Jon was silent, and Martin’s own face was turning a rather garish blotchy pink. That was it, Martin thought, he’d have to sleep out in the fields with the cows that night.
Jon chuckled. “Well, ah, I suppose I feel the same. Do you want to maybe toss me one of your hoodies? I’m getting a bit chilly.”
Remembering that he did in fact exist and was in fact in the middle of doing something, Martin snapped out of his mortified trance and dug around in his bag. Seconds later he emerged victorious with a weathered hoodie bearing a rather elegant crest.
“I didn’t know you went to King’s College, Martin.”
“Oh, uh… um… I didn’t, actually. I got this from the gift shop when I visited one time.”
Of course, Jon knew that about Martin, but he’d found a new favorite activity, and he wasn’t about to give it up so easily; getting Martin to fluster didn’t take much, and the payoff was incredible.
Once Jon had taken the wet shirt off and put the dry, warm hoodie on, he relaxed back into the pillows on the bed, tapping Martin to let him know he could turn around now.
Upon seeing Jon in an article of his clothing, Martin blushed once again. Jon could have easily predicted that would happen, but regardless he still enjoyed watching Martin try to form any coherent words.
“You look… very cuddly.” He finally decided on, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.
“I feel cuddly,” Jon said, stretching out like a cat. Something in his lower back popped, and he slowly came out of the stretch and curled up, back facing towards Martin.
Martin yawned, manouvering the covers so that Jon was underneath them before slipping his own legs in and rolling over, one arm lightly draped over Jon.
“D’you want to turn out the light?” Martin mumbled, suddenly overcome by drowsiness.
Jon hummed, and briefly left his cozy position to reach out to the lamp, shutting it off with a click and leaving the room lit only by the stars and the moon.